الأسبوع الأخير

Favorite bar stamp: Potato @ Little Prague.

Quick post: I'm officially on my last week of living in Davis. Lately I've been thinking about this bubble very much because the prompt for my final Adv Comp paper is to write an introspective paper about my most educational experience while living here. To say that I'm going to miss this place would be the understatement of the year. I've done more growing up and soul searching here than I have my entire life. I mean, 18 to 22 is a pretty formative period so it's expected; university is a crazy experiment, no? Anyway, this four year long summer camp is almost over. Too bad I'm too stressed out to actually enjoy all my favorite things in dtown. Alas, Friday at 4pm I'll be finished with work and class so I'm thinking happy hour followed by dinner and one final bar crawl. I need some good old fashioned college fun. So the twenty-four million dollar question: the thing I'm going to miss the most? Everything.

♥

Simon and Garfunkel "America"

-melidee

Libre albedrío

"Maquette de décor pour 'Labyrinth' " by Salvador Dali 1941 (via)

Although humans possess free will (or more accurately, freedom of intention ), they have no power to create anything in the material world as this is entirely the province of God. This doctrine is now known in Western philosophy as occasionalism.

Man does not posses free will in the strictest sense, but does have the capacity to acquire, through an act of acceptance, the actions that God has already created for him.

Abu al-Hasan al-Ash'ari was noted for his teachings on atomism, among the earliest Islamic Philosophies, and for al-Ash'ari this was the basis for propagating a deterministic view that Allah created every moment in time and every particle of matter. Thus, cause and effect was an illusion. He nonetheless believed in free will, elaborating the thoughts of Dirar ibn Amr' and Abu Hanafi into a "dual agent" or "acquisition" (iktisab) account of free will.

While al-Ash'ari was opposed to the views of the Mu'tazili school for its over-emphasis on reason, he was also opposed to the views of certain orthodox schools such as the Zahiri (literalist), Mujassimite (anthropomorphic) and Muhaddithin (traditionalist) schools for their over-emphasis on taqlid (imitation) in his Istihsan al‑Khaud

In Asharite atomism, atoms are the only perpetual, material things in existence, and all else in the world is "accidental" meaning something that lasts for only an instant. Nothing accidental can be the cause of anything else, except perception, as it exists for a moment. Contingent events are not subject to natural physical causes, but are the direct result of God's constant intervention, without which nothing could happen. Thus nature is completely dependent on God, which meshes with other Asharite Islamic ideas on causation, or the lack thereof (Gardet 2001). 

All above via.

...

Last week I had to present on the Ash'ari School of Islamic theology as a reaction to the Mu'tazilte School. I found both extremely interesting, and, Asharite atomism in particular. While researching for my presentation, I felt like I was back in my high school AP Spanish Language class discussing libre albedrío with the astounding Dr. Gregoire. It felt nice to ponder about these things once again.

Accordingly, I'm adding two new reads to my summer list: 

Al-Ghazali's The Incoherence of the Philosophers (تهافت الفلاسفة):
Ibn Rushd's (Averroes)The Incoherence of the Incoherence (تهافت التهافت) as a reaction.

Led Zeppelin "Kashmir"

-melidee

"I have to lose my idols to find my voice" *

"Down by water's edge, under a dying tree
 I let my body slip, so dead inside of me" *

Voxtrot "Brother in Conflict" and "Ghost"*

-melidee 

"Whatever put eloquence in language"

  via

Moses and the Shepherd 

Moses heard a shepherd on the road praying,
“God, where are you? I want to help You, to fix Your shoes
and comb your hair. I want to wash Your clothes
and pick the lice off. I want to bring You milk,
to kiss Your little hands and feet when it’s time
for You to go to bed. I want to sweep Your room
and keep it neat. God, my sheep and my goats
are Yours. All I can say, remembering You,
is ayyyyyyy and ahhhhhhhh.”

Moses could stand it no longer.
“Who are you talking to?”

“The one who made us, and made the earth and made the sky.”
“Don’t talk about shoes and socks with God!
And what’s this with Your little hands and feet?
Such blasphemous familiarity sounds like
you’re chatting with your uncles.
Only something that grows needs milk.
Only someone with feet needs shoes. Not God!
Even if you meant God’s human representatives,
as when God said, ‘I was sick, and you did not visit me,’
even then this tone would be foolish and irreverent.

Use appropriate terms. Fatima is a fine name
for a woman, but if you call a man Fatima,
it’s an insult. Body-and-birth language
are right for us on this side of the river,
but not for addressing the Origin,
not for Allah.”

The shepherd repented and tore his clothes and sighed
and wandered out into the desert.

A sudden revelation
came then to Moses. God’s voice:
You have separated Me
from one of my own. Did you come as a prophet to unite,
or to sever?
I have given each being a separate and unique way
of seeing and knowing and saying that knowledge.
What seems wrong to you is right for him.
What is poison to one is honey to someone else.

Purity and impurity, sloth and diligence in worship,
these mean nothing to Me.
I am apart from all that.
Ways of worshipping are not to be ranked as better
or worse than one another.
Hindus do Hindu things.
The Dravidian Muslims in India do what they do.
It’s all praise, and it’s all right.

It’s not Me that’s glorified in acts of worship.
It’s the worshippers! I don’t hear the words
They say. I look inside at the humility.
That broken-open lowliness is the Reality,
not the language! Forget phraseology.
I want burning, burning.
Be friends.
with your burning. Burn up your thinking
and your forms of expression!
Moses,
those who pay attention to ways of behaving
and speaking are one sort.
Lovers who burn are another.”

Don’t impose a property tax
on a burned out village. Don’t scold the Lover.
The “wrong” way he talks is better than a hundred
“right” ways of others.
Inside the Kaaba
it doesn’t matter which direction you point
your prayer rug!
The ocean diver doesn’t need snowshoes!
The Love-Religion has no code or doctrine.
Only God.
So the ruby has nothing engraved on it!
It doesn’t need markings.
God began speaking
deeper mysteries to Moses. Vision and words,
which cannot be recorded here, poured into
and through him. He left himself and came back.
He went to eternity and came back here.
Many times this happened.
It’s foolish of me
to try and say this. If I did say it,
it would uproot our human intelligences.
It would shatter all writing pens.

Moses ran after the shepherd.
He followed the bewildered footprints,
in one place moving straight like a castle
across a chessboard. In another, sideways,
like a bishop.
Now surging like a wave cresting,
now sliding down like a fish,
with always his feet
making geomancy symbols in the sand,
recording his wandering state.

Moses finally caught up with him.
“I was wrong. God has revealed to me
that there are no rules for worship.
Say whatever
and however your loving tells you to. Your sweet blasphemy
is the truest devotion.
Through you a whole world is freed.
Loosen your tongue and don’t worry what comes out.
It’s all the light of the Spirit.”

The shepherd replied,
“Moses, Moses,
I’ve gone beyond even that.
You applied the whip and my horse shied and jumped
out of itself. The Divine Nature and my human nature
came together.
Bless your scolding hand and your arm.
I can’t say what has happened.
What I’m saying now
is not my real condition. It can’t be said.”

The shepherd grew quiet.

When you look in a mirror,
you see yourself, not the state of the mirror.
The fluteplayer puts breath into a flute,
and who makes the music? Not the flute.
The Fluteplayer!

Whenever you speak praise
or thanksgiving to God, it’s always like this
dear shepherd’s simplicity.
When you eventually see
through the veils to how things really are,
you will keep saying again
and again,
“This is certainly not like
we thought it was!” 

-Rumi

"Ideal, ideal, ideal!" 

Jamila. al-yaum, Rumi.


-melidee

"I'm sorry you think I'm dead" *

via

"Studying is hard and boring. Teaching is hard and boring. So, what you're telling me is to be bored, and then bored, and finally bored again, but this time for the rest of my life? This whole stupid country is bored! There's no life in it, or color, or fun! It's probably just as well the Russians are going to drop a nuclear bomb on us any day now. So my choice is to do something hard and boring, or to marry my... Jew, and go to Paris and Rome and listen to jazz, and read, and eat good food in nice restaurants, and have fun! It's not enough to educate us anymore Ms. Walters. You've got to tell us why you're doing it."

It's so incredibly difficult to be appreciative of things that feel common, or worse, things that we feel entitled to in the first place. However, we should and must take the time every once in a while to consider simple historical facts. As sons and daughters of this latest generation, we tend to overlook the fact that it has taken humanity a very long time to get to where we are. I think this generation, and our (I'm convinced flawed) ability to quickly adapt to new technologies and ridiculously senseless services, has severely disabled us to look beyond ourselves. We suffer from chronic egocentrism (only in the sense that we are actually very self-conscious; we think we're the center of the universe, always) so it's nice to have sobering moments. With that said, here I go. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to finish my undergraduate studies. I am so incredibly lucky to be an educated individual. I am so ridiculously appreciative to all the courageous and inspiring people who paved the way for me and my fellow marginalized peoples. Because of them I have the luxury of choice. I can choose to continue my studies, I can choose to get a job, I can choose to stay at home and start a family. This is a big deal and I think we have been too haste in forgetting. I think of all the women I grew up around (my mother, my aunts, the ladies at temple and church). Absolutely none of them had that luxury of an education. They didn't have a choice. I guess, in some respect, luxury is the wrong word because it implies that an education is a pleasurable, self-indulgent activity. And truthfully, at least considering the state of the entire world, it kind of is. I can only hope that this erroneous concept will be modified to better represent how essential an education truly is.

Yesterday, I watched the film An Education and afterward, quickly tracked down the Lynn Barber memoir that it was based on. Besides developing a total girl crush on Carey Mulligan, the film encouraged me to evaluate a couple of questions I've been struggling with lately. Alas, I'm done with university (while Jenny was a 16-year-old working to get into Oxford) so I suppose my circumstances are a bit different but, lately, I've been craving some superficial mind-numbing fun (I had an Entourage marathon last weekend so that's probably why). I don't think the desire for a shallow good time is a necessarily bad thing; what I do find troublesome is that it would be relatively easy to get lost in the glitz and glamour of that world; I mean, it happens all the time. So while Jenny was being seduced by David, art, France, jazz, cigarettes, restaurants, dance clubs and weekend trips, I have to admit that I, too, was being seduced. See, this is exactly what I've been craving lately; a cultured, fun, charming older man to show me the world. However, the latter half of the movie was (intentionally) sobering. 

There were a couple of scenes in particular, that brought me back from seduction. When Jenny accuses the amazing Miss Stubbs (who had always believed in her) of being 'dead' for not having the life that David had, recently, offered her, I was hurt. As the film hit its turning point and Jenny is at her lowest point, she has the opportunity to visit Miss Stubbs' adorably vibrant flat. Quickly, Jenny realizes how alive Miss Stubbs actually is, and the lovely home she has made for herself was visual proof. Almost instantly, I thought of one of my favorite essays, Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own". It's incredible to me how, to this day, the idea that only a man can offer a woman these things is still so enticing. Miss Stubbs (even in this day and age) was a breath of fresh air. And yet, like I said before, I'm dying for a cultured older man to show me life. 

Personally, the most insightful part of the film was when Jenny yells at Headmistress Walters about how hard and boring the lives of ordinary people are and how pointless her education is. I love this simply because I kind of agreed with her, strictly in the sense that I completely disagree with her suggestion of mutual exclusivity. I agree that we need to listen to jazz, read, go to Paris and have fun! I completely disagree with the use of "or" (see above).

This last line, in particular, was my favorite: "It's not enough to educate us anymore Ms. Walters. You've got to tell us why you're doing it." I love this simply because it made me realize how incredibly blessed I am; I don't have to ask, I already know "why."

And on a strictly shallow side note: the styling for the movie was amazing. She looked stunning.

Facundo Cabral "No Soy de Aquí"

 

-melidee

It's a luscious mix of words and tricks *

Hiking up to Tio Chalba's house, Ahuachapán, El Salvador.

A conversation I had a few weeks ago that, for some reason, seems to still linger in the back of my mind:

"He told me, 'That's great, but are you sure you are prepared to handle failure?' "

"What did he mean?" 

"Well, working in the development field you are pretty much guaranteed to fail 90% of the time. I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. If we were succeeding, conditions would be much better, no? Instead, things only seem to be getting worse. Most development work is failed policy."

"Right."

"So this means that the people preparing these policies, in other words, the people we hope to be in the future, are failing at their jobs. Not purposely of course, it's just an impossible field. We're actually crazy for wanting it so much."

"Haha. Yeah."

"You know, I've always been a good student. I don't really know how to fail."

"Yeah. Me neither..."

 The Shins "Caring is Creepy" *

-melidee

I. am. happy. That's just the saddest lie *

Altes Brot ist nicht hart, kein Brot, das ist hart.
Se isto é verdadeiro, por que eu não posso estar feliz?


Kid Cuuuuuuudi *

-melidee

Transcendiendo el Llorazgo.

Me, doing the only thing that truly makes me happy: getting lost in a new city.

I'm not really sure how to deal with death. I've never really had to, I mean. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents are alive and relatively healthy. I was too young to remember when my great-grandparents passed away so, sadly (or fortunately?), I have no connection. I know that death is inevitable (unless you're the 12th Shi'a Imam Muhammad al-Mahdi who was born in 689 AD and is currently in Occultation. The dude is 1321!) but from what I can tell, I will be horrible at dealing with it when the time comes. When Aaliyah died, I skipped church and stayed home to cry. When Heath Ledger died, I left work early, cried but mostly sat in silence because I could not comprehend how it was even possible. I 'dealt' with it by writing a letter to Matilda in form of a blog post here. When DJ AM died, I sat in my living room crying; I've never understood why his death, in particular, hurt me so much-I'm not a huge fan but there was something about the entire situation-his essence, his notoriety, his addictions, the people he was surrounded by, the tragedy behind it all, and the fact that, at the end of the day, he literally seemed like a down-to-earth guy who just so happened to be surrounded (and loved) by all these 'famous' people. The point is, if I broke down for these people, who I, essentially, only 'knew' through the way they were marketed and portrayed - how will I react when (God willing, not anytime soon) someone I personally know dies?

I had someone relatively familial die this week. She was sort of an aunt and my sister's godmother. Like I said in the intro sentence, I'm not really sure how to deal with death (does anyone, Mel?). I was not particularly close to this person, but I happened to live with her my senior year of high school because of technical reasons. When I got the news of her death, I cried a bit, but mostly, I felt too disconnected with the entire situation (her family-half of whom are also my family-and I do not get along). I am too far (emotionally and physically) to assess the situation. I feel awkward and terrible. Even worse, I cannot help but think that she might be in a better situation now. Ugh, doesn't everyone always say that as a sort of comforting/coping mechanism ? Truthfully, this woman suffered a great deal in her life. She  also was not the nicest person in the world. She was a harmless woman with a strong opinion and even stronger personality. Thus, by the end of her life she had no one; she literally floated from couch to couch, taking as much pity as she could conjure up. She had no children and left only a husband who was living working in Massachusetts. She was loved, in a certain (unconventional) way. 

This is just one of those situations that's very difficult to process. All of the factors seem to add up and her tragic life is difficult to take in. While trying to assess the situation, it hit me -or my ego, rather -how incredibly God-complexed I am. What makes me think I have to right to assess and determine how her death should be taken in (if she's better off dead, etc)? Death is death- it's so final (in this world, at least, and depending on your personal beliefs). As I sat out on the green grassy hill overlooking the pond, barefoot, and watching the sun fade away, I had a moment of clarity; it was one of those moments where I swear I could feel heaven. I had a rush to my head (possibly due to the split second euphoric state I self-induced) and I could see everything. Unfortunately, the only thing I was left with was this cliche: Life is precious (I really wanted something new and exciting). Actually, it was more like: Every single life is equally precious. And that's it.
 
Anyway, this dear lady (God bless her and rest her soul) also made me reassess many aspects of my life. I've decided to be slightly more open-minded about things (namely: having children, relationships and-just maybe-marriage. Okay, maybe not. Or...I don't know). I still firmly believe that certain people are not meant to have children and I still think that I may be one of those people. It's just...it's a bit sad that this lady will be buried today and she won't have any offspring to say their final goodbye. Children do not validate people, it's just, I feel like if she could have, she would have wanted children. I guess what I'm getting at is that I should be more grateful that I (presumably) actually have the option. 

All this talk of life and death made me think about the way we live our lives. The way I currently live (with respect to the way my entire family and all my friends live) and the way I hope to live a nomadic life (with respect to the way all my successful college friends hope to live) is so different from the people around me. I thought about Voxtrot and the lovely "Raised by Wolves" lyrics: I will never live like you / But you will probably die like me / Oh lovelessly, an ending / Full of God, and God makes plenty. Esto es lo que e sentido toda mi vida. I've also had "Ghost" on repeat the entire week; it takes up an entirely different feel when you listen to it with the death theme (that it was originally intended for) in mind; so beautiful. The point is not to relate life and death back to these songs but, rather, for me to constantly evaluate and question the way I live to make sure I'm following my heart. I need to make sure to always keep this in mind; instead of just daydreaming about how I hope to live my life (always remembering that if I want to make God laugh, tell him my plans) I need to wake up and just do it. 

I fear normalcy and calmness way too much. I cannot, and will not, allow myself to be scared into a comfortable life. It is not what I want; I've never had a stable, comfortable life (besides these past four college years and the bubble is quickly driving me insane) and I never want one. Eighteen years I've been trained with the skills to survive extreme instability and it's the only time I've truly felt like my life had a purpose. If I ever begin talking (or writing, rather) about jobs, positions, salaries, resumes, interviews, loans, debt and all that shit as if it were actually important or relevant to life (especially when there is true tragedy and anguish occurring outside this mind-numbing dystopia) please let me know. Anyway, I just opened my little black notebook and, in it, found the infamous Trainspotting quote:

"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food in your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons?" (I promise not to turn to heroin).

I don't exactly know what I want specifically, but I know what I don't want. I don't want to live like most of my friends and family. I don't want to push information (false info, at that) in a fucking numbers' game just for a stable paycheck. I don't think it's a bad way to life. I think it's most logical and most conformable way to life. It's the most 'human nature' way to live: we are selfish beings, it's the way we should live and the reason we've survived and thrived (eh) as a species. Well, I  guess I would rather be killed off as part of the crazy inept outlier. I truly am happy for all you folks who choose to live rationally to survive. Truthfully, I must state my gratitude, once again, because I actually have the option to live this way. The fact is, I have the option to live the overindulgent comfortable life that the entire world longs for (and only us privileged are 'entitled to'; so infuriating). However, I choose not to take it: that is pretty selfish. It's almost mocking, no? I realize this but I don't mean it that way; I am so grateful. I think we all know, deep inside, what we want and what we need. We must transcend the fear and just follow it. 

Rest in peace, Miriam.

Portishead, the entire Dummy album. Always. So. Damn. Good.

-melidee

Even if things get heavy...

 Graduation Day

The past month has been "life changing" to say the very least. In fact, I had an eight-page post that I wrote at the Starbucks next to the Burbank Airport while waiting for my ride. In it, I described my graduation ceremony, described Voxtrot's final SF show (it's been SO long, I know!) and rambled on about dear life in general. Sadly, I forgot to save the draft and since Starbucks does not offer free Wifi, it's gone. Since then I've been meaning to write up a similar post where I'd include other things like a description of the (life-changing) Silvio Rodriguez concert at the Gisbon in Los Angeles. Yes, you read correctly. I had the privilege and honor of seeing Silvio Rodriguez (aka the greatest singer/songwriter of the 20/21st century) in concert; there is absolutely no way I could ever describe how special this was to me. First, I never thought this day would actually occur since Silvio had not been allowed to play in the U.S. in over 30 years. Secondly, I had the privilege of sharing this special day with my father, the man who has been playing Silvio around me since I was still in the womb. I have many thoughts about this special occasion; Silvio was impeccable. The show was all acoustic and he played all of our favorites. He played about 5-7 encores and the crowd went wild with joy. However, I've decided that it would take too much effort to even begin to describe how special this experience was so I will leave it at that.

So, since the last post, I've graduated, went home for a bit, had a graduation party, saw Silvio, came back to Davis, have been working my butt off at work and am taking two summer school classes. One is an Advanced Composition writing class and the other is an Intro to Islam class. Though not required, I know that if I'm not in school for long, I begin to go insane.

With that said, the reason I write today is express a couple of thoughts. I come one of those inner city schools where teachers sit on their computers while the students do whatever the hell they want (I mean, they get paid either way so why bother control us?). For this reason, many of us inner city school products lack the most basic of skills. Now, I am not going to sit here and put myself down, I shad to get a certain GPA, take the same APs, SATs and ACTs and go through the same process as everyone else to get into universities. However, getting in is one thing but surviving college is a whole different story. I believe that the college institute and all its rigorous requirements is an efficient and fair weeding out process. I know so many who began college with certain majors and, after a couple of quarters, realized that they needed to switch concentrations if they planned on staying in school (pre-med to psych majors, namely) and everything worked out. I know even more people who simply could not handle it. The reasons for college drop-outs vary from voluntary withdrawal to academic dismissal; it is truly heartbreaking to see fellow classmates go because, for the most part, there is so much lost potential. I try to comfort myself by saying that everything happens for a reason, yet, in this case at least,  I am not satisfied. I think some of the dissatisfaction stems from the fact that I have worked extremely hard these past four years (Hell, the past eighteen years!) so when people I know have flunked out of college because all they cared about was partying all day, every day, I am slightly offended. Alas, that is why I say it's an efficient and fair weeding out process and this is how it works. Anyway, the point of this rambling is not to put myself on a pedestal because I did it: I finished in four years with two majors, never once failed a class, never once went below a 2.5  and for the past 3 years have been well above at 3.3 (freshman year was a slight adjustment phase), never have I been on any sort of academic probation (or even come close to!), I've had a steady 17+ hours (26+ during summers) a week job, and all my extracurriculars on top of the 20+ hours of lecture (academic year and summer school), not to mention all the homework and studying, all while supporting myself all four years (I pay everything myself). Oh yeah, and I've had to trek this unwandered path on my own because I am the first in my entire (70+ member extended) family to even come close to going to college, let alone graduate.

None of that bullshit is the point, the point is the following: Last week, my advanced composition professor returned a simple 500 word review I had to write for the class. For the first time in the past 18 years, my essay was completely marked up. Granted, I wrote the thing 20 minutes before it was due and it still earned a B+; still, I cried while reading the comments. While most comments asked to develop the themes (which was truly impossible with the 500 word limit) what hurt me the most was a tiny comment on the first page which said "Subject-Verb Agreement". I could not believe that I was mindless enough to violate one of the most basic grammar rules. I was completely embarrassed. Since then, all I can think about is what a fraud I am. Writing is probably the only tangible (eh, paper is tangible, lets go with it) skill I have. Writing is also one of my greatest passions in life. Side note: please do not judge my writing based on these frivolous blog posts, I'm usually half asleep when I write these rambles. After receiving that paper, I've been scared to write anything; it has been completely hard on me. It is so pathetic, but I've let my fear get the best of me. I absolutely hate being judged on things I am so passionate about, which is probably why I decided to not become an English major or why I have not yet submitted my Peace Corps application. It has taken me a very long time to even come onto blogspot because it's a constant reminder (a taunting one, at that) of all my fears and the stupidity of not even being able to write up a post for this blog that no one will ever read.

For today's assignment my composition professor assigned a book review by David  Foster Wallace titled "Tense Present". The essay was absolutely wonderful and if you ever have a chance to read it, I highly recommend it. The essay deals with the debate over Standard Written English as a dialect of English rather than the sole and truly correct form. It goes into the Descriptivist vs. Prescriptivist debate, which is really fascinating stuff. Anyway, the assignment asked us to find how Foster Wallace, in his essay, had violated the most basic grammatical rules. I focused on his strategic use of run-on sentences--something that has been one of my weaker points. I wish I could describe the entire essay but it would just be a pain and could verge on dull for those not interested in the debate, however, the point is that after writing my essay on his run-ons, something snapped in my head and I decided to give this writing thing a go. How? Well, what better way to jump back in than by writing the most ridiculously raw blog post ever full of strategic use of run-ons. Meaning? Well, I will not go back once to look over the post, thus, it will be completely unedited. Sentences structures, run-ons, spelling, subject-verb agreement, consistent tense, all of this will surely be violated one way or another. The point is to jump back in by going in as low as I can because there is only up from there. I swear, as I type this I am panicking at the idea of posting this. I can see all the rambling and I just want to go back and erase half of what I've written--but I won't. I'll let you judge me if you'd like; the point of this is to allow myself to be okay with being judged. I will learn to be more careful about my writing and will stop waiting until 20 minutes before something is due to begin writing it.

So here it is,  I hope this helps me with the rest of the writing I'll have to do during the next three weeks (I have essays due every day, summer school mode!).

Davis is beautiful during the summer, I have not had a chance to enjoy it because of work deadlines (we had our fiscal close soon so we were finalizing a bunch of budget stuff) and school. I have three weeks to soak it up as much as possible, then it's off to Los Angeles once again (well, traveling in August-I'm so excited!).

Last night, I had a dream in which my baby brother was severely injured. I hate those dreams where my family is hurt or dies, I have them way too often. Anyway, it made me miss my brother (and entire family) so much. Since then I've had Modest Mouse "Float On" on repeat because it's one of my favorite songs to sing when I play Rockband with my brother.

I'll begin posting more interesting stuff soon, I  have so many things I've been wanting to write about.
P.S. anyone watching the World Cup? My parents are huge futbol fans so I've been surrounded by soccer my entire life. Some of the earliest memories I have are going to every L.A. Galaxy home game at the Rose Bowl during the season. At first, I hated having to spend my weekends watching a boring game, but as I turned into a teen, I began to love it. I had the hugest crush on Cobi Jones and Kevin Hartman, oh man, it was ridiculous. Two days ago (Fourth of July) I began thinking why I did not have any memories of BBQing on the holiday. I, then, remembered that every 4th of July, as far as I can remember, we would spend it at Rose Bowl watching the Galaxy game and then the fireworks show (btw am I the only person not a huge fan of fireworks? I like the little sparkler things though). The point is this, I am so happy that people are randomly amped on soccer during the World Cup and although I realize it's all hype that will soon go away, it still makes me sort of happy. The thing I cannot stand, though, is when people opinan (means 'offer their opinion', sounded better in Spanish for some reason) about shit they know nothing about. I am definitely not the biggest knowledge filled super fan, but I grew up around soccer games and I love the sport (I used to play in Varsity but I was horrible!).  I swear, if I hear one more opinion from someone who has never given a shit about the sport before, I will burst. With that said, go Deutschland !


Last one, during my week off from school and work I watched all five seasons of Weeds on my parents On Demand cable thing and I am absolutely obsessed with the show. I secretly think it's because I am Nancy Botwin. Her fear of normalcy is something I can relate to all too well. I truly believe that my life will turn out to be some sort of twisted version of the show. Plus, I drink about 4 double shot iced lattes a day. Really, I am Nancy Botwin. I cannot wait for the next season to begin.


Modest Mouse "Float On" *


-melidee